Lovely chair, standing in my kitchen,
my feet are sore and my arse is itchin’
to sit upon you and eat my lunch,
but this won’t happen, I have a hunch.
As soon as my bum reaches the seat
a child asks for more to eat,
so up I jump to grab the ham
and apples and cheese and bread with jam.
I’d love to eat my tomato soup hot,
but I’m constantly dashing to the pot.
Feeding my kids makes me break a sweat,
I burn more calories than I ingest, I bet.
Finally I’m able to take a bite,
my soup is cold but that’s all right.
I shove it in my mouth, quickly you see,
since one must be ready for a food emergency.
Alas! Spilled milk, trashing the floor!
Before you can blink, I’m down on all fours.
I mop and I wipe, making it clean.
Forget my soup, I need some bloody caffeine…
Lovely chair, standing in my kitchen,
to unite with you is my ambition.
Someday, far off, I’ll sit on you to eat,
but, until then, I’ll wolf down my meals on my feet.
“My mother had not had a hot meal for herself in 15 years.”
- From the film A Christmas Story
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